His eyes were dim;
his hair had turned completely grey; his face was wizen; his figure
had shrunk. I looked at the once lively, rattlepated, humorous
little doctor--associated in my remembrance with the perpetration of
incorrigible social indiscretions and innumerable boyish jokes--and
I saw nothing left of his former self, but the old tendency to vulgar
smartness in his dress. The man was a wreck; but his clothes and his
jewellery--in cruel mockery of the change in him--were as gay and as
gaudy as ever.
"I have often thought of you, Mr. Blake," he said; "and I am heartily
glad to see you again at last. If there is anything I can do for you,
pray command my services, sir--pray command my services!"
He said those few commonplace words with needless hurry and eagerness,
and with a curiosity to know what had brought me to Yorkshire, which
he was perfectly--I might say childishly--incapable of concealing from
notice.
With the object that I had in view, I had of course foreseen the
necessity of entering into some sort of personal explanation, before I
could hope to interest people, mostly strangers to me, in doing their
best to assist my inquiry.
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